


The Great Storybrooke Christmas Bake-Off

by Crysania



Series: Rumbelle Fic Exchanges [13]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 10:38:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17119784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crysania/pseuds/Crysania
Summary: Written for the 2018 Rumbelle Secret Santa to the prompts: first meeting, baking, mistletoe, and confusion.Mr. Gold always wins the Christmas Bake-Off. Until Belle French arrives in town and upends not only the bake-off, but his life as well.





	The Great Storybrooke Christmas Bake-Off

Everyone knows that Mr. Gold wins the annual Christmas bake-off. It happens every year, come hell or high water. It’s to the point, really, that no one even bothers to compete.

Well, they compete. Sort of.

Regina, the mayor of their little town, bullies some of the townsfolk into at least bringing _something_. Sad cookies made from recipes found on the back of the bag of chocolate chips or worse, store-bought cookie dough.

It’s not a challenge for Mr. Gold. And he likes it that way, thank you very much. What’s the fun in doing something if you’re going to _lose_? So he offers up sneers and the occasional comment on how bad the town really is at creating anything worthwhile, and takes home the grand prize years after year.

The town mutters about it, _he’s richer than dirt, why does he need the $500 prize anyway?_ But there’s little they can do. It just is the way it is.

Or the way it was.

All that changed the day Belle French rolled into town. She arrived in mid-November, just before Thanksgiving. A breath of fresh air, some described her as. She was a tiny thing with a heart of cold and core of steel. She took over the library and had the thing opened in no time.

The entire town flocked to it.

Well, the entire town minus one annoyed pawnshop broker who refused to so much as set foot in the reopened library. He has no interest in such things. Never has. Never will. The town can have their ridiculous library with their ridiculous cheap books donated by people who picked them up at the likes of Walmart, no doubt, and dumped them off on the library. A whole lot of trash, he’s sure.

 _Libraries_ , he scoffs. _Who needs ‘em?_ He has prized first editions and rare books on the shelves in his home. When he wishes to indulge, he knows he’s indulging with the best.

And so it comes as great surprise when Mr. Gold shows up the day of the annual Christmas bake-off with his still warm cookies carefully placed in glass baking dishes and separated by wax paper and there’s someone else there.

Someone he doesn’t recognize.

Someone who, as soon as she turns around and turns that million-watt mile on him, has him totally and completely lost. Mr. Gold is a lonely man. Always has been as far back as he can remember. He’d lost his wife many years ago. Oh, not _lost_ as in died. That might have been easier. No, he lost her to some young punk and his speedboat. Promises of getting to see it _all_ were far better than remaining married to a poor pawnbroker.

Well, who’s poor _now_? Now he owns the whole damned town.

“Hello!” comes the far too bright voice from the far too bright woman. He has to look _down_ to see her, she’s really that tiny. But her smile would light up the entire world.

_Waxing poetic? That’s not like you._

So instead, he sneers at her, leans across the table he’s set his own wares on. “Just who are _you_ , dearie?”

And that’s when he notices the picnic basket she’s carrying. A picnic basket he realizes, if he were to lean forward and take a deep sniff, not that he’d be caught dead doing that, had the delicious odor of baked goods.

He can’t quite make out what he’s smelling. A bit of honey, some cinnamon, some sort of nut.

“I’m Belle. Belle French? I run the library.”

“So you do,” he murmurs. “I know of you.” He hates admitting it. It would be easier to just ignore the girl. But no, she’s still watching him. Waiting. For something.

“And you are?” she finally asks.

“Surely you’ve heard of me.” He tries to keep the incredulity out of his voice. Everyone knows Mr. Gold. He’s _infamous_ in their little town. He owns most of it and what he doesn’t own, he has his thumb on for some other reason. Usually loans. Loans with high interest and terrible payment terms. Not for him, of course. It all benefits him, makes him a tidy sum. That poor pawnbroker is one rich bastard now and he prides himself on it.

When she gives him a blank look, he just shakes his head. “I’m Mr. Gold.”

“Oh,” she says like it doesn’t ring any sort of bell. But then – “Oh! The pawnshop owner. I’ve been meaning to stop by.”

“Whatever for?” The words are out before he can stop them.

“Oh, you know, look around. You never know what you’ll find in one of those shops…”

“ _I_ know what you’ll find, Miss French. And it’s probably a good sight more than you can afford on a librarian’s salary.” And _that_ one stings. He can see the way her shoulders drop slightly.

“Well, ok.” Her words have lost a little of their brightness. “I guess I won’t be stopping by then.” She starts to turn away but then glances back over her shoulder. “Good luck in the bake-off,” she offers up.

“I don’t _need_ luck, dearie,” he shoots back. “I _am_ the bake-off.”

* * *

But he’s not _the_ bake-off. Not this year. When Belle arrived in Storybrooke, all everyone was talking about was the amazing Christmas Fair the town put on every year. Her father, whose illness had necessitated her moving to the little Maine town to help care for him, had mentioned it once or twice over the past few years. A tree-lighting ceremony and parade kicked it off. But there was so much more. Ice sculptures and snowman-making competitions and artwork for the kids.

And the annual Christmas bake-off.

Belle _loves_ to bake. She’s not a great cook. Not by any means. Her idea of a great dinner is ramen noodles or mac and cheese from a box. But cookies? _That_ she loves. She scours the internet for interesting and unique recipes all the time.

She’s warned, of course, that she really shouldn’t plan to participate. There’s one _Mr. Gold_ to contend with. He wins it every single year. And Belle is not entirely competitive but the way they speak of him, like he’s some sort of evil spirit or the devil incarnate, has her intrigued enough to sift through her recipe box for an old favorite.

Baklava cookies. Sugar cookie base, with the middle filled with walnuts, cinnamon and honey. They’re warm. They’re tasty. And she’s never ever had someone turn one down.

And then she meets him on the morning of the bake-off. There are others there. She recognizes Mr. Clarke from the pharmacy and Ruby from the diner. But there’s one _other_ person there. He’s off to the side, not interacting with anyone else. And he’s _glaring_ at her.

Clearly he’s trying to intimidate her. The others give him a wide berth as they bring their wares in to set them down for the taste tests. “Belle,” Ruby says as she sets eyes on her. “Didn’t I…”

“Warn me? You sure did.” Ruby just rolls her eyes at her cheerful voice.

Belle French will not be cowed.

Not by the likes of this Mr. Gold. No, quite the contrary, she very happily goes right up to him to greet him. She can hear a gasp come from somewhere behind her, Ruby’s muttered _Oh no_. But it’s too late. She’s approached him.

And it does _not_ go well. He snaps at her and snarls at her, all beneath the veneer of a gentleman. She can tell he’s well off, the suit he’s wearing probably costing more than a month of her salary at the library. A strange thing in this tiny town, but she supposes if he really does own half of it ( _more than half_ , she can hear Ruby say) then he can probably afford outrageously expensive suits.

But there’s something about him, she realizes, as she gives him a less than cheery goodbye and returns to her own table. Something in the careworn lines of his face and the way he pushes her away and yet pulls her in at the same time. He’s lonely.

She’s heard about the ex-wife.

She’s heard about the son he lost, though she’s never had the heart to ask if he’d _lost_ him as in death or if he lost him to a vindictive ex-wife. As horrible as the latter is, she does hope that’s the case. At least there’s a chance for some sort of reconciliation there, some chance to have him back in his life.

“Wow,” Ruby says as Belle lays out her cookies.

“They’re good?” She brightens back up at Ruby’s approach. She was the first person to talk to her when she came into the town to take over the long-closed library. She’s Belle’s opposite in every way. Outgoing where Belle is an introvert, dressing in clothes that show off her beautiful model’s body while Belle tends toward being far more conservative ( _I_ am _a librarian, after all_ and Ruby laughs at that). But they bonded quickly. Ruby is an easy person to like and she’s thankful she found a new friend so quickly.

“No, I mean… _Gold_. I don’t think I’ve heard him speak more than two or three words to anyone in years. It’s all _Get out, dearie._ Or _do we have a deal?_ ”

“Deal?”

Ruby shakes her head. “He’s the local loan shark. Among other things.” The last has a dark bent to it.

“What does that mean?”

“Nevermind.” And then she does take one of Belle’s cookies and Belle is gratified to see the look of almost orgasmic delight on her face. “Belle these are _amazing_.”

“Thanks.”

“You _really_ shouldn’t enter these into the competition.”

“What? Why? You just said – ”

“Gold,” is all Ruby says.

“Yes, he informed me that _he_ is the bake-off.” Belle rolls her eyes. “Surely that’s a bit of an exaggeration?”

“He’s won it every year for as long as I can remember.”

“Really? I guess I need to try his cookies, then!”

“ _Belle_.” Ruby looks exasperated and Belle just smiles at her.

“Surely he can’t be that bad.” _Lonely_ , Belle reminds herself. Lonely and just a little bit sad. He pushes people away because he fears getting close.

“ _Belle_ ,” Ruby says again. “I know you’re into all those romantic stories where the fair maiden conquers the beast. But trust me. This beast doesn’t need conquering. He’s not going to turn into a lapdog. Not for _anyone_.”

Belle glances back over to Gold, where he’s alternately setting up his cookies and glaring at anyone who comes too close.  “I’m not so sure of that,” Belle murmurs.

And she doesn’t know why she wonders, why she even cares. With a sigh, she sets to making her area look as presentable as possible.

* * *

Belle has watched several people come and go from her little stand and everyone has left begging her for the recipe or suggesting she just open her own little baking business. She’s been pleased with the reaction.

Gold continues to watch her from his little stand. There are no decorations on his. Just the table and Gold glaring at everyone from behind it. She has no idea which people dropping in to try her cookies are the actual judges. They’re kept under wraps until the competition is over.

The only one she knows is the mayor. She’s head judge every year and picks a small panel to judge along with her. She’ll get the final say, but only if there’s a tie.

There’s never a tie.

It’s always unanimous.

Belle watches as another person greets Gold, taking a cookie and scurrying away. The next one hesitates a little longer and she sees Gold lean forward and say something to the man. He turns white as a sheet and then rushes off.

He ends up at her stand next and she hands him a cookie. His eyes widen as he takes a bite. “Miss French,” he mutters through a mouthful.

“It’s Belle…please.” She holds out her hand.

He takes it in a less than firm grip, the type that makes her want to wipe her hand on her pants afterward. But she doesn’t. She grew up better than that. “Archie,” he says.

“Oh, Dr. Hopper. Of course.”

“These are delicious, Belle. Seriously.” She watches as he glances over at Gold who is, of course, _glaring_ at the man.

She’s pretty sure he’s a judge.

How Gold knows this, she doesn’t know. But it’s pretty clear that he does.

Now, the smart thing for Belle to do would be to ignore it and just let him win. She knows he’s highly influential in this little town and he has pretty much everyone, save for the mayor, cowed. They tiptoe around him like they have the devil in their midst, half terrified that he might even _look_ at them much less talk to them.

But Belle is not one to be cowed. She’s not one to back down from a challenge. And she’s the type to always _always_ face the monster. Frankly, she doubts he’s half as terrifying as they all make him out to be. He’s a small man, not much taller than her, and he leans heavily on a cane that he clearly needs to use for walking.

What’s the worst he’d do? Beat her with that cane?

“Mr. Gold,” she says as she approaches his table.

“Leaving your wares unattended?” he asks, finishing the question with a couple _tsks_. “Just what _would_ the judges think?” He smirks at that.

Belle leans over his cookies and offers him a smirk of her own. “Does it even matter? You have them all so terrified they’re not going to vote for the best man…or _woman_ …in the competition.”

“Really, dearie.” He doesn’t look even remotely moved by her statement.

“Yes, really. Does it feel good to win when you haven’t actually won?”

“What makes you think I’m not the actual winner?”

“What makes you think you _are_?” she shoots back.

She’s pretty pleased to see that he has no answer to that for a moment. But then he snarls something unintelligible, followed by, “I just am.” She’d laugh if he didn’t look so serious and so put out over it.

“Well, I guess we shall see.” She starts to move off but he stops her with a soft touch to her shoulder. There’s a spark there, she’s not sure of what. But he pulls his hand back as if stung.

For just a moment, they stare at each other, eyes wide, confusion evident. And then his lips form into another sneer. “Yes, dearie. May the best _man_ win.”

She smiles back at him, easy and bright. “Yes, may the best _woman_ win.” She won’t let him get the better of her. She’s never been one to back down from a fight. Not when it’s something important, like proper books at the library. And certainly not in some silly baking contest.

* * *

She wins.

Of course she does.

Gold is left gaping at Regina when she announces the final tally of the votes. It’s a small gathering, just the judges and those who entered the contest. She points out, not quite so judiciously, that she was not called upon to make any final decision. While it hadn’t been unanimous, the winner was clear.

Belle French.

New to town and unaware of proper Storybrooke etiquette. Not only had she not brought some disgusting mess she picked up at a local store, but she had actually convinced the residents of Storybrooke, who were generally terrified of him, to vote for _her_.

He hears the murmurs from others. _Breath of fresh air. I hope she won’t regret this. Do you see the way he’s looking at her?_

He knows he’s the monster of Storybrooke. It’s a persona he’s carefully cultivated over the years. The dragon who hides in his lair, protecting his treasures and only making deals to release them into the world. Gold is alone. He likes it that way.

He always has.

Why is it, then, that he feels this strange pang deep inside him as he watches the others surround little Belle French with their congratulations and their love? It’s a ridiculously sentimental feeling, probably brought on by the maudlin Christmas music and all the decorations. It’s getting to his head this year, certainly.

He doesn’t even notice when she approaches his table, so completely in his own world of misery and scroogedom to be aware of her.

“So, then,” her voice comes and he looks up so fast he feels the muscles in his neck protest.

“You,” he sneers at her.

And she just smiles.

Of course she does.

His heart makes a tiny, traitorous little flip.

“Oh come now, Mr. Gold,” she admonishes. But the smile never leaves her face. “Surely it can’t be all that bad.”

“Of course it could,” he mutters.

She laughs.

Actually _laughs_.

As if he’s funny. Or because she’s laughing _at_ him. He narrows his eyes at her.

She laughs harder. “Mr. Gold,” she says, reaching out and putting her hand on his lower arm. “It’ll make it all the sweeter next year if you win again.”

He hates the way he leans toward her, but he does it anyway. He should snap at her again, pull his arm away. It’s the _obvious_ thing. Instead, he licks his lips, which he realizes suddenly are very very dry, and lets words come tumbling out before he’s even fully formulated the thought inside his head. “Miss French, will you be at the Christmas Celebration tonight?” Traitorous words. _Tell her you hope she can find something appropriate to wear on her librarian’s salary. Tell her you expect her to look more presentable. Tell her_ anything _, anything at all…_

But he doesn’t. His mouth clamps shut and it’s like there’s some will outside his own that won’t allow him to say anything else.

“You can bet on it.” Her smile is brighter than the sun. _Bloody hell_.

“I’m not a betting man, Miss French.”

He’s rewarded with another one of her laughs and this time he’s sure she’s laughing _with_ him, even though he’s not laughing. “You’d probably lose anyway.”

He growls something unintelligible at that.

“Well, Mr. Gold, I suppose I’ll see you at the party later.” And then she releases his arm and walks away.

He lets her.

He has no reason to call her back.

But he can’t help but watch her as she walks off.

And he desperately hopes no one is watching _him_ as he does so.

* * *

“I can’t believe you _won_ ,” Ruby says to Belle as they’re primping in the mirror before they go to the big Christmas party. There she’ll be announced as the winner of the annual Christmas bake-off and given her prize.

She’s going to donate it to the library.

It’s not that she can’t use it. She can. But the library can use it _more_.

“I guess my cookies are really that good,” she muses.

“No seriously. Gold never loses. No one even wants to compete against him.”

Belle offers up a shrug. “Maybe they should? Not that anyone in this town seems to be any good at baking. I mean, did you _see_ some of those cookies?” She shudders. There were some that were undercooked, a couple that were so hard she was sure she’d break a tooth on them. And one that was decent, but she’s pretty sure it came from the local grocery store.

“Everyone is too terrified to bring anything good.”

“Why?”

 Ruby just stares at her. “You talked to him, right? We all saw it. He’s a _monster_ , Belle.”

“I…” Belle starts to say. No one is a monster. Well, maybe that’s not so true. But Gold? “He’s a little rough around the edges, but…”

“You _like_ him.” Ruby is staring at her like she’s suddenly grown another head.

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“But?” Ruby just raises an eyebrow.

“He’s interesting.” She shrugs. She’s not sure how to describe that strange spark she felt when she reached out to touch him. Maybe he pushes people away, but she can see, buried somewhere deep in his eyes, that he’s lonely. Maybe hurting.

And he’s handsome. Older, certainly, but Belle has never let that hold her back. Frankly, the men she dated that were her age tended to be shallow. Or interested either in settling down with the little woman or finding a replacement wife to raise the kids he got saddled with when his wife passed on suddenly. Ok, maybe that was just _one_ guy who had some very outdated opinions on how children should be raised and _who_ should raise them. Which was certainly not _him_.

Something tells her there’s more to Gold than just the snappish pawnbroker who keeps everyone at arm’s length.

“You’re crazy.” Ruby shakes her head. “You know that, right?”

“I’ve been called worse,” Belle admits.

Ruby shakes her head again and turns back to the mirror to apply some mascara. At least the topic is dropped…for now.

* * *

The party is in full swing and Gold is…hiding. No, that’s not quite the right term for it. He’s in a corner, near a large planet and it just so happens that most of the place can’t see him there.

It’s the way he likes it.

He promises the bloody mayor every year that he’ll go to the celebration, get his accolades, and the check for winning that he always immediately turns around and sends to his son. He lives in Tallahassee, Florida with the mother of _his_ son and Gold knows that they can use the money far more than he. He’s offered, time and time again, to help them out in some way but Neal, for all his years being raised by his wayward mother, has inherited all of Gold’s own stubbornness. So he calls it a Christmas present and points out that it’s just the town’s money and just _take it_ dammit.

But this year is different.

He’ll have to lie to his son, tell him he won again, just so he can send him the money. He doesn’t tell anyone that the reason he wants to win this stupid thing is because then he’s not lying to his son. Neal has had lies told to him throughout his life that he doesn’t need one more.

He hates it, but what can he do?

From his vantage point at the edge of the room, he sees _her_ the moment she crosses the doorway. She’s with the girl from the diner who is, rather predictably so, dressed to impress in a low-cut skin-tight red dress. He’s somehow not surprised that sunny Belle French has befriended her. They couldn’t be more different, but he suspects that doesn’t matter at all to Belle.

What _does_ surprise him is that Belle is not on the arm of one of the eligible young bachelors of their own. He can see them all watching her, and he narrows his eyes at them all. There’s this _feeling_ in the pit of his stomach that he can’t quite define. Jealous, possessive. _Not_ something that Gold usually feels.

He watches as she says something to Ruby and sets off away from her. She’s scanning the room and he can only imagine who she might be looking for.

She runs into the mayor first, who stops her to chat with her. Regina’s smile is colored with something darker, as it often is, and her nails as they dig just slightly into Belle’s shoulder look like claws. No doubt something about the library. Belle looks slightly shaken, but nods and moves away.

And then her eyes meet his.

And she smiles.

And his heart does this strange thing. A sort of thump followed by this strange wheezing noise, like an old squeeze box coming back to life. He’d laugh, then, if he were capable of such things

* * *

She looks for him from the moment she enters the room. She and Ruby are late. Well, _fashionably late_ Ruby calls it. Belle hates the term. She’s not late. She’s _never_ late, always the one to show up some 15 minutes before any appointment. She’s walked into parties where the hosts weren’t quite ready yet (“well, yes we said seven, but no one’s arrived that early before!”).

So coming late. She feels a little strange. But no one pays her any mind. A few looks from young men that she has no interest in, but Ruby _does_. Belle sends her off with her blessing.

She wants to find Gold.

And she doesn’t really understand _why_. She just feels _something_ when she’s near him. Some sort of connection, an ease to her loneliness in a new town, an ease to his. Maybe the latter is more important.

He snarls and pushes people away. But she doesn’t think he _wants_ to.

And it’s that little hook that has her.

She finds him _hiding_. Well, maybe that’s not quite the correct term. He’s standing somewhere off to the side of the room, near a rather large plant. It’s like something out of the most ridiculous of romance novels. The shy older gentleman hiding behind the Ficus, too afraid to come out and yet still wanting to be a part of it.

When their eyes meet, his lips start to form into a sneer. Start, but not finish. She smiles. And the sneer vanishes like it was never there. Her smile gets bigger.

“Mr. Gold,” she says as she approaches.

“Miss French,” he returns.

“Belle,” she says as she leans toward him. “Miss French is what the kids at the library call me.”

“ _Miss French_ ,” he reiterates and it takes everything in herself to keep from rolling her eyes at him.

“You don’t seem to be the type to hide,” she points out.

“Indeed I’m not.” The words are clipped, that lovely Scottish lilt of his softening the words just a bit. She realizes she could listen to that voice read anything, the phone book, whatever, and it would probably still be interesting.

“Then…”

“I’m an observer, Miss French.” She says nothing, waits for him to go on. For a moment she wonders if he will, or if the conversation is over. “Look,” he says at last and she steps closer to him, turning to watch the room alongside him. “Do you see that bloke over there? No, don’t _point_ , Miss French…”

“Belle.”

“Just…you see who I’m talking about. Dark hair, wearing that long leather jacket?” She nods. He’s talking to a woman, beautiful and statuesque. “He’s been with half the women in this room.”

“What?” She glances over at him and is surprised to see the glint of amusement in his eyes.

“Oh yes. Look at the woman around them. They’re all seething with jealousy.” He’s right, she realizes. There are at least three women a handful of feet away who are watching the pair with narrowed eyes and stiff smiles. The man in the leather jacket is unaware, of course. He’s bending low over the statuesque woman’s hand.

“She’s not interested, though,” Belle points out.

“ _Now_ you see what I see!” His voice has an animation to it that she hasn’t heard before.

“What exactly does this sort of _observation_ do for you?” People-watching is interesting, that’s for sure. She enjoys it. But digging into their lives, sorting out such things as who has been with who? That seems like a pastime for…well…someone on the outskirts of it all. Someone whose own life is so uninteresting, so lonely, that he takes an interest in other’s lives as his only recourse.

“What does it do?” He lets out a soft huff of laughter. “It does _everything_. If you know what drives a person, you know exactly what sort of deals to make with them. You _understand_ them, what makes them tick, what will drive them to desperation.”

“And that’s…”

“Everything,” he says simply.

She shakes her head. “That’s a sad way to live, Mr. Gold.”

He says nothing for a moment and she turns to look at him. There’s a faraway look in his eyes. He’s watching, but not _seeing_ , she realizes, turned inward. “I suppose that it is,” he says at last.

They fall silent and Belle takes to watching the same scene he watches. “Those two are in love,” she says, nodding toward a couple who are clearly skirting each other. They’re talking, they’re dancing, but she can see the nervousness about both of them. “They can’t admit it and so they dance around the issues while they dance together.”

She looks over at him and he’s watching her with one eyebrow raised. “You’re a romantic, Miss…Belle.” He stumbles over her name but she can’t help but smile when he _finally_ calls her by her given name.

“Does that surprise you?”

“No,” he says quickly.

“Because you’ve already analyzed me and know everything about my life?” She turns to him then, crosses her arms over her chest.

“In a way. You work in a library, so you’re a reader.”

“Oh, you _are_ good.” She can’t stop the bit of sarcasm from creeping into her voice. Tit for tat, and all that.

“Touché,” he murmurs. “You dress in clothes that are conservative, but flirty nonetheless. You’re _fearless_.”

“What makes you say that?” She’s not fearless. Not really. Most of her life she’s been adrift, brought to the States when she was young, always different, the kid with the funny accent and the weird slang terms that no one else knows. She’d lost her mother, killed in a freak accident at work before she had turned five. Lost her father, dead to cancer at too young an age. An orphan of 30. She’s here because it’s where she landed.

“You faced down me, didn’t you?”

She shrugs at that. “You’re not that scary, Mr. Gold,” she points out. “You might think you are. You might have the entire town cowed, too afraid to approach you for fear they’ll lose what they hold most dear. But at heart, you’re just an old softie.”

“Well, you certainly figured _me_ out,” he murmurs.

“Did I?”

He snorts. “You’re perhaps closer than other people. But I would hardly call myself a softie.”

“Or old, I suppose,” she tosses in.

“Oh, that I am. Just an old dragon.”

“You’re hardly geriatric.” She finishes the words on a laugh.

He falls silent then.

She does as well, enjoying a sort of camaraderie there that she didn’t expect when she first approached him. Her eyes follow the dancing in the room and she thinks about asking the man next to her if he’d like to. Maybe he’d like to shock them all.

“Mr. Gold,” comes the voice of the mayor and Belle’s eyes shoot to the other woman. “Miss French.” There’s a lilt at the end of the word, as if it’s a question rather than a greeting. “I’m surprised to find the two of you hiding out here together.”

“We’re not… “ both Belle and Gold start to say. They fall silent and when Belle glances over at him, he’s looking at her as well. There’s a smirk there. No, more than a smirk. It’s conspiratorial, secretive.

“We’re not hiding,” Belle finally says and her voice comes out a little softer, a little huskier than she intends.

The mayor’s smile is full of brittle glass as she looks from one to the other. “Is that so?” Regina asks. “Well, far be it from me to interfere with your _not hiding_.” She starts to walk away but then pauses, glances upward, and then finally moves off.

That moment reminds her of a game she used to play when she was young, standing there on the side of the road, pointing upward at nothing. See how many people you can get to look up while they’re driving or walking by. And now they do the same.

As Regina’s eyes drift upward as she walks off, so too do Belle’s.

And then Gold looks up, as if compelled by the two women to figure out what they’re looking at.

And she sees it, what Regina had been looking at, why there was that smirk on her face as she left them.

 _Mistletoe_.

“Oh,” Belle says and realizes the word sounds utterly stupid coming out of her mouth.

“Yes,” Gold says and then echoes her. “Oh.”

“We uh…” It’s not like she’s thought of such things since meeting him. No, that would be a lie. A complete and utter lie. She’s watched the way his lips form words, enjoyed his sharp profile, the dark intelligent eyes. Even those hands with long blunt fingers, graceful in a way one doesn’t expect a man’s hands to be.  “We don’t have to,” she finally finishes with.

“No,” he says, almost too quickly. “No I suppose we don’t.”  He’s watching her, though, his eyes dark and hooded.

“It’s…” _Speak, Belle. Say something at least halfway intelligent._ “It _is_ tradition, though.”

“Yes.” He says nothing else for a moment, just watches her. His eyes flit from her eyes down to her lips and she realizes that he wants to. Yes, he definitely _wants_ to. He steps just a bit closer. “It is.”

His voice is soft, a little deeper than usual. And she takes a deep, shaky breath. “And I mean, if it’s tradition…”

“Right,” he says. And then he’s leaning toward her and she realizes _then_ that this is what has been missing from her life. His lips are soft, gentle, just a soft brushing of them against hers. Her eye drift shut and when he pulls back she _follows_. How can she not? She wants more, wants to _feel_ more.

There’s a soft noise in the back of his throat and he wraps his arms around her. The party be damned. She doesn’t care about them, doesn’t care who might be watching. She threads her hands through his hair and it’s just as soft as she thought it would be.

“Belle,” he whispers as he pulls back again.

“Gold,” she starts to say.

“Ethan,” he murmurs and she’s surprised when he leans in to kiss her again.

When they pull apart, this time she’s watching him, her eyes searching his for something, _anything_. And then she sees it, just a small half-smile. It’s all the sign she needs.

“Come then, Ethan.” And she grabs his hand and tugs him along behind her. He comes easily enough.

“Belle…where…” he starts to say but she turns back to him with a smirk and she puts a finger to her lips. She has no idea what she’s looking for, not exactly. She doesn’t know the layout of the mayor’s mansion, doesn’t know if she can find _it_ , but she’s looking.

_Are you really going to do this? Now? With him?_

Yes, yes she really is. She stops him in the middle of the hallway to kiss him again and he immediately responds, pulling her tightly against him. “Are we about to do what I think we’re about to do?”

“If you want to,” she responds with, kissing him again. “Only if…”

“Oh, I want to.”

“Good, because I don’t know what I was going to do if you didn’t.”

He laughs at that and she realizes how _good_ that laughter sounds. A little rusty with disuse, but _good_. She finds a door unlocked, a coatroom it seems. She stops as she stares into the room. “Good enough?”

“God, yes,” he responds with and drags her inside. There’s a desk off to the side and he drags her over to that. She kisses him again before he actually picks her up and pushes her onto it. “This is good?” She doesn’t know how he is so strong, maneuvering himself so well while using a cane to get around, but she’s not complaining. Not in the least.

“Perfect.”

And then he’s stepping between her legs and they’re kissing again and _God_ , Belle didn’t know she was missing so much. His mouth is firm, but gentle against hers. She pushes his suit jacket off and is undoing his tie while one of his hands is cupping her breast, thumb teasing at the nipple that’s hardening even beneath her bra.

“God, I’ve never done this before,” he murmurs against her mouth as she’s undoing the buttons of his shirt and running her hands over the smooth skin she finds beneath it.

She pulls back then. “Done what? Sex?”

He lets out a small bark of laughter. “I have a son.”

“Oh!”

“I meant… _this_ …with someone I barely know…” His voice trails off.

“I’d like to get to know you better,” Belle says and she’s _serious_ about it. She wants to. She _needs_ to.

“I would too.” And then his hand is tracing up her thigh and she’s thankful that panty hose are out of favor because the skin there is easily accessible. “Is this ok?” he asks as one of his fingers brushes the edge of her underwear.

“Yes. _Bloody hell_ yes.”

He kisses her again as one finger slips beneath the edge of her underwear and runs along the wetness her finds there. She gasps into his mouth as he dips a finger inside her and then runs it up to just that right spot. “Good?” he asks against her mouth.

She can’t even get another word out and so just nods and kisses him again. His fingers are like magic on her, soft and yet just firm enough to make her body sing. She can feel everything go taut, far faster than when she does this herself, and then she breaks, her orgasm rushing over her. He kisses her, lets her ride it out while drinking in every gasp.

And then she’s reaching down to free him, wrapping her hand around his already hard cock. He hisses something entirely unintelligible.

“Sorry,” she murmurs.

“A little softer.” His breath is hot on her neck as he pants against her. She can’t help but smile as she loosens her grip a little and guides him toward her. “ _Fuck_ ,” he says as she runs the tip of his cock through the wetness there. And then – “Fuck, I don’t have any condoms. I didn’t plan…”

“I didn’t either,” she starts to say and he curses again. She laughs then. He sounds so beautifully wrecked and so frustrated at the same time. “I’m on the pill. For…well…other issues.” This isn’t really the moment to bring up the terribly painful periods she experiences, so she leaves it that. “And I’m clean.”

“I haven’t done this in over ten years,” he admits.

“Then let’s get on with it.” She _likes_ the thought of him inside her, the first woman in _years_ , feeling her completely against him, no condom separating his skin from hers.

And then she _does_ guide him into her, loving the stretch, the way he fits so snugly inside her. He fits like he was meant to be there and she lets out a soft moan.

He covers her mouth with his hand and his eyes are intense as he watches her. “We have to be quiet. Can you be quiet?” There’s an urgency to his voice that she finds incredibly arousing.

She nods and he releases her mouth, starting to move in her. And it is _so very difficult_ to keep herself from moaning loudly at the feeling of him inside her, the push and pull and drag of his hard cock within her.

It’s perfect.

So she bites her lip, lets him bury his face in her neck, and rides it out with her hands wrapped around his shoulders, her legs around his hips. When he leans back a little, she wants to go with him, but then his hand comes in between them and he’s touching her _there_ , just right, soft small circles in time with his thrusting.

And then everything goes white as the combination of _him_ and his fingers and everything just washes over her. She can’t help but let out a little noise as she comes.

He follows her a moment later, holding her hips tight against him and biting down softly on her shoulder to hold his own gasp in.

It may just be the most erotic thing she’s experienced and it takes more than a few moments to catch her breath.

“Ethan,” she murmurs.

“I know.”

“You…”

“We need to go back in.” He steps back from her then and she feels strangely bereft at the loss of contact, as if her body _craves_ it, craves _him_.

“We do.” She glances around the little room that had become the home of their secret tryst. _God, Belle, you are not the kind of person to do this_. She ducks her head in embarrassment and Ethan is right there, putting his hand beneath her chin and drawing her in for a soft kiss.

“No regrets?”

She takes a deep breath. “No.” She stands up on shaky legs. “None.”

“Good.” He leans down to pull his pants up and she realizes that they never even got undressed. His shirt is untucked, the buttons half undone. She finds her panties on the floor near the desk and quickly puts them on, hoping they’ll contain some of the mess that’s dripping out of her. _Maybe a condom would have been a better idea, all things considered_.

A handkerchief appears in front of her, pulled from the pocket of Ethan’s coat. “You looked like you needed one.” And there’s a pink tint to his cheeks.

She tries not to laugh. “God, this is awkward.”

“Don’t,” he says quickly. “Don’t let it be awkward. Sex is messy.”

“I know.”

He reaches up and cups her face. “No regrets, right?”

“Right. None.” Except, _God_ , they look completely and utterly fucked.

He’s righted his outfit as best as he can. Tucked everything back in and smoothed down his hair. But his coat is wrinkled and his shirt no longer looks perfectly pressed. His pocket square is gone, used to clean her up and wrapped into a tight ball in a pocket of her purse.

She tries to put her hair back up, but it’s just useless without a mirror and she’s lost at least two of the pins that held it together. She has _no_ idea how she’ll explain that one to Ruby, especially considering the state Gold is in. But, well, she’ll cross that bridge when she comes to it.

* * *

Belle leaves first. They agree, maybe their first agreement outside deciding that yes having sex in a coat room seems like a great idea, that it’s best if they go out separately.

She runs into Ruby almost immediately.

“ _There_ you are,” Ruby says when she sees her, grabbing Belle and hauling her off. “Where have you been? They’re about to start the awards.”

“Awards?” Belle says and _dear God_ what is Ruby talking about? “I was freshening up,” she says by way of explanation. It’s a terrible one, frankly. She looks like she’s been…well, she looks like she’s been doing exactly what she _was_ doing.

Ruby stops to look at her. _Really_ look at her. Her eyes widen and Belle _cringes_ and then Ruby is shaking her head. “You went and curled up with a book, didn’t you?”

Belle lets out a soft laugh that she hopes doesn’t sound as nervous as she feels. “You caught me!” G _od_ , the words sound as fake to her ears as they are.

But Ruby is already scanning the room, shaking her head at typical Belle, the librarian who would rather spend time with her books than people. At least it gives her some sort of cover for her disappearance.

As they head toward the podium, she can see Gold leaving the same hallway she just came out of. He still looks rumpled, a little worse for the wear, but there’s a smile on his face and his eyes find hers across the room. She can feel her face heat and looks away, hopefully before anyone else sees their shared looks.

And then Ruby is handing her off to Regina. The Mayor. Who gives her one look and then offers a cold, brittle smile. “Miss French.”

“Mayor…” She has to clear her throat as her voice breaks a little. “Mayor Mills.”

“You do know we have cameras everywhere here.”

Belle feels her heart drop down into her stomach. “Well, yes. I suppose?”

The mayor just smirks. “Ah, there you are Mr. Gold!”

Belle cringes.

Gold makes his way over to them and she’s glad to see that by the time he does, he at least looks _composed_ , if not as neat as before.

“Mayor,” he says and then glances at Belle. “Miss French.” He inclines his head at her and while his face is neutral, she can see something dancing just behind his eyes.

“Mr. Gold.” Oh _God,_ this is so awkward. How do you address the man you just fucked in a coat room? Especially when the mayor is standing so close and watching like she _knows_ there’s something there. _Cameras_. She tries not to imagine the mayor looking through them, finding their tryst. Would they be arrested? Was it considered public indecency? _Fuck fuck fuck_.

Regina moves off then and Belle’s sigh of relief only lasts a moment before she’s calling her _and_ Gold up on stage. It’s like she’s planned this and that bloody _smile_ is still on her face.

Belle comes to stand next to Regina, who immediately moves out of the way, pushing her and Gold closer together. “Welcome!” Regina says into the mic, and Belle cringes when her ears are hit with feedback. She starts to rock back on her heels and Gold reaches out a hand to steady her.

She meets his eyes.

He smiles.

She glances over at Ruby and finds her watching her with narrowed eyes that see _way_ too much. Belle feels her cheeks heat and looks away. But she knows Ruby knows. She can see her looking back and forth from Gold to her, can see her cross her arms over her chest as she studies them.

“So we have a bit of a surprise this year,” Regina says. Gold inches a little closer to Belle while Regina goes on to talk about the history of the Christmas baking competition and how Gold has won it every year since its inception. “Many have tried, but none have succeeded.” Regina lets it fall dramatically into the room. And then – “Until now.”

A gasp goes out from the crowd.

Gold inches a little closer to Belle. “Miss French?” His voice is barely above a whisper.

“Yes Mr. Gold?” Belle responds with.

Regina goes on. “This year, Storybrooke’s Christmas Committee is proud to announce a _new_ winner of the baking contest!”

There’s a smattering of applause and Gold leans down toward Belle. “I know this may be a little out of order. But perhaps…”

“Miss Belle French!” Gold backs away from her suddenly and Belle is left standing alone, staring at the audience. Half are applauding wildly, the other half are watching Gold warily, as if they’re waiting for some sort of retaliation.

But _he_ is watching her.

She knows he’s expected to do _something_. And she watches as he blinks once, eyes wide, before turning back to the audience. He snarls something intelligible at them, baring his teeth. A few people stop applauding and step back.

It’s almost _amusing_. She’s pretty sure he doesn’t care about the silly competition, even if there is a little bit of tightness around his eyes. There’s something there, an explanation for why this _matters_ to him that she needs to know.

She does something a little daring, standing there in front of what surely must be if not _all_ of Storybrooke’s residents, then certainly most of them.

She steps closer to him.

And leans to the side so her face comes near his.

“Mr. Gold?”

“Yes, Miss French?” he responds with right away. When she glances over at him, she can see just the smallest bit of an upturn at the corner of his mouth.

“You were going to ask me something…” She trails off there.

“Indeed I was.”

Regina approaches them and offers Belle the trophy. Her name is already engraved on it. Belle takes it, along with the check that Regina hands her, and smiles at the rest of the town as they look on. She can feel Gold lurking somewhere alongside her as she faces them. “Thank you, Mayor Mills.” She inclines her head toward Regina. “And the rest of the committee.” She raises the trophy up. “All of this money is going straight into the library. So please, come down and see what new books this buys us!”

A cheer goes up.

Gold leans in toward her and she toward him. “Perhaps, Miss French, I might be able to treat you to dinner sometime. To celebrate your good fortune, of course.”

“Of course,” she says. And then adds, “I’d like that.”

“I’ll call?”

She holds out her hands for his phone and quickly inputs her number. “Please,” she says and then she’s off the little stage, rushing back to Ruby. She has no idea where this is going to go. But there’s this fluttering feeling deep inside her that she hasn’t felt in a long time. Excitement, something to look forward to. The future is always uncertain but here, now, she feels like this is only going to lead to good things.


End file.
